


Showtime

by a_nonny_moose



Series: My AU [45]
Category: Markiplier Egos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-13 19:01:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11766321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_nonny_moose/pseuds/a_nonny_moose
Summary: Alternatively titled, "Bim Seduces Everyone."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on my own AU, in which Bim is an incubus. Enjoy!

It all started because Bim wanted his own TV segment. He could handle not being the host of Markiplier TV's game show segment, and even put up with Wilford bossing him around in the studio. 

The line, it turned out, was being introduced as Wilford's 'assistant.'

"I am _not_ your assistant!" Bim was yelling, cameras turned to a "technical error" screen. Kathryn, boom microphone over her shoulder, smirked from afar. This had been a long time coming. 

"Well--" Wilford was sputtering, utterly taken aback by Bim's outbursts. Bim was usually so sweet and hardworking, if a little full of himself. But then, which one of them wasn't?

"I'm your _co-host_ , Warfstache, and you'd do well to remember it!" Bim was red in the face, nose-to-mustache with Wilford. 

Bim finally stormed off towards the dressing rooms (glorified closets, really), and Wilford approached Kathryn with something close to an apology. 

"Save it, Warfie," Kathryn said, shaking her head. "You don't exactly treat him like a partner."

"Of course I do!" Wilford ruffled his mustache, indignant. "Name _one_ time--"

Kathryn started listing them off on her fingers, practiced, measured. "He's had about two minutes of camera time the past month, you keep him up editing while you get 'beauty sleep,' and do I have to mention making him scrub the floors?"

"That doesn't mean--!"

"You just called him your _assistant_."

Wilford stopped, huffing. "Fine. It's not my fault that I'm so much more iconic, and clever, and--"

"I can still hear you!" Bim shouted, paper-thin walls rattling. 

Kathryn chuckled at Wilford's stricken face. Sociopath, psychopath, whatever-- he cared for Bim, under it all. "Just, let him cool down, and apologize."

"Apologize? Me?!"

She patted his cheek before getting up, throwing her jacket over her arm. "Oh, Wilford, you have to grow up sometime," Kathryn chided, walking to the door. 

"But how am I supposed to--"

The door shut with a slam, and the lights in the room flicked off. Wilford stood, fuming, thinking, in the darkness.

* * *

Bim caught himself over his dresser, breathing hard. He blinked at himself in the mirror, forcing down tears. It wasn't fair. He worked so hard, for so little. 

The Doctor's voice came to him, as if in a dream. "Don't hide your emotions," he said. "Your powers will build, and burst, if you keep them bottled up too long."

Bim caught his own eye in the mirror. Instinctively, he reached up to brush his hair back into place. Red-faced and puffy-eyed, he still thought he looked good. 

Better than Wilford, anyway, what with that stupid mustache. 

An idea was coming to him, if he dared to let it form. 

Bim took a good long look at himself. Fresh-faced, the object of obsession. Suit impeccable. In the dimmed light, reflected back at himself, he looked almost like Dark. If he'd just sweep his hair forward, unbutton his shirt--

The idea came, full force, against his better judgement. 

He took another look at himself, hair sweeping across his face, and grinned. No, he wouldn't bottle up his emotions. 

He winked at himself, feeling the buzzing and pulsing of his aura curl around his spine, something like confidence. Bim puffed his chest a little, watching the buttons strain. 

If Wilford wouldn't give him respect, he'd go ahead and take it.

* * *

An easy target, first. Around the corner, Bim took a deep breath. If he wanted to take over the studio, start his own show, he'd need the others on his side. He couldn't expect Wilford to fall to him so easily, and he was better safe than sorry. 

Dr. Iplier walked down the hallway, humming. 

Bim smiled, putting his teeth together in a grin. Showtime. 

"Heya, Doc!"

The Doctor jumped a little, seeing Bim so happy, considering the shouting he'd heard earlier. "Hi, Bim, what--"

"Say, how've you been?" Bim hung off of the Doctor's arm, carefully steering them towards the kitchen. His aura, invisible, surrounded the two of them. 

For Dr. Iplier, it was as if he'd been pulled out of hot water into shockingly cold, crisp air. He wasn't sure what was happening-- but suddenly, he could see Bim more clearly than he ever had. The sparkle in his eyes, the gentle quirk of his lips. The Doctor was hanging on Bim's every word, desperate to see this beauty in motion. 

Bim, acutely aware of how the Doctor's gaze suddenly dropped from his eyes, beamed at him. Bim kept up a steady stream of conversation as he guided Dr. Iplier into the kitchen, making sure to pull him close as they waltzed through the door. A slight touch of his hand on the Doctor's hip, and Bim watched in muted satisfaction as Dr. Iplier gasped and blushed. 

All according to plan. If he had a plan. 

Bim moved away from Dr. Iplier to pull out a chair, and the Doctor found enough presence of mind to protest. 

"Ah, Bim, I really should get back to--"

"Nonsense, Doc," Bim purred, looking up at him through his swept-forward hair. The Doctor seemed lost. "Oh, you're working yourself so hard," he pouted, batting his eyes. Bim could almost hear Dr. Iplier's heart stop. "Come sit with me for a little bit, yeah?"

"I-- I really--"

Time to bring out the big guns. "For _me_ , Doctor?"

Dr. Iplier gulped a little, heart pounding. "O-okay." He took a seat, dumbstruck by Bim's sudden advances. 

Bim left his aura silently curling itself around Dr. Iplier and went to make coffee, just the way the Doctor liked it. He was so close. 

"Tell me, how's the clinic?" Bim said, stooping over the Doctor to set down two mugs, steaming. 

Dr. Iplier diverted his eyes hurriedly to his cup of coffee, away from Bim's perfect, curling fingers, away from those chocolate-brown eyes. His heart was almost in his ears, brain half-heartedly struggling against Bim's influence. 

"It's going... well," the Doctor stuttered, taking a hasty sip. He couldn't look Bim in the eye, couldn't bring himself to look past the curve of his lips--

"That's good, Doc." Bim didn't even bother with his cup of coffee, reaching instead for Dr. Iplier's free hand. "It's incredible, y'know, keeping up with all those patients by yourself."

Dr. Iplier's eyes grew wide, and he swallowed his coffee as carefully as he could. Still, he burned the roof of his mouth. "Yeah," he stuttered, around the flash of pain, "its, uh..."

"Is something wrong?" Bim hopped to his feet, around the table, and knelt at the Doctor's side. "Did you burn yourself? Oh, no, Doc."

Dr. Iplier felt his face go red. Bim was so gentle, kneeling in front of him, as if begging to receive. 

Bim grasped the Doctor's hands in his own. "Let me see, hmm?" He pulled himself up, one hand on the Doctor's knee, the other going to grasp his chin. 

Dr. Iplier thought he was about to faint, Bim's thumb brushing over his lower lip, almost nose-to-nose. He glanced up into Bim's eyes, parting his lips. Bim's eyes shone at him, face creased into a gentle smile, the sparkle not quite hidden by a squint. 

Time seemed frozen. 

"You should rest," Bim finally whispered, still looking down at Dr. Iplier. 

"I--"

"Uh-uh." Bim cupped his cheek in a worn, warm hand. "Doctor's orders, m'kay?"

Well, how could he say no to that?

Bim pulled the Doctor up as if they were dancing, chests pressed together, a hand against his waist. 

"Let's get you to bed."

Dr. Iplier felt his knees go weak as Bim steered them out of the kitchen, coffee forgotten. Arm still securely around the Doctor's waist, Bim chattered a bit about the latest in TV-- Dr. Iplier didn't understand a word, too focused on the firm pressure of Bim's body on his. 

"Wh-- what have you been doing in the studio?" he managed to say, a little breathless. 

Bim's face fell a little, but Dr. Iplier was too far gone to see Bim's masked glee-- the Doctor was suddenly filled with concern. If anything hurt Bim, why, he'd--

"I don't really do much," Bim whispered, shoulders slumping, choreographed. "Mr. Warfstache doesn't let me be on camera, see. I'm always running around editing or scrubbing floors."

"That's terrible." A shocked, desperate kind of hurt was welling in the Doctor's chest; alongside it, hot anger. 

"It's okay," Bim ducked his head as if in embarrassment. "If I do good this month, he might let me work with the cameras a bit." Bim could feel the Doctor's resolve sliding, and his aura almost crackled with joy. This was working. 

They'd reached Dr. Iplier's door, and Bim shrugged, brushing off the Doctor's worried stare. "It's okay, Doc," he repeated, voice trembling. 

"No, no," Dr. Iplier said, a hushed power to his voice. "No, Bim, that's not okay. I'll have a talk with Will, you'll see--"

"No!" Bim almost shouted, aura almost dropping. Dr. Iplier blinked in confusion. "I mean, no, don't... don't worry about little old me," Bim said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'll get along, filming some stuff on my own, when he's not looking. It's a one-man show, but--" he raised his hands helplessly, "--I can do it. Mostly."

"If you ever need help," Dr. Iplier jumped on the words, desperate to make Bim smile again. "Or anything, anything at all, I'm--"

"Thank you, Doctor," Bim cut him off, smiling silkily again. He leaned closer, as if giving the Doctor a hug. "Could you meet me tomorrow morning in the studio?" Bim traced his chin. "I have... something... in mind."

Dr. Iplier froze at the proximity, eyes locked with Bim's. His heart beat too fast, palms tingling, sweating. 

He nodded. 

"It's a date."

The cool press of Bim's lips against his cheek, the curve of his jaw, his own stubble brushing against Bim's soft, soft skin. 

In a wink, Bim had disappeared down the stairs, and Dr. Iplier was left clutching at air.

* * *

Bim laughed a little, almost skipping down the hallway. That had been easy. That had been _fun_. He could've done that in his sleep, without his powers. 

He slowed a little, approaching the kitchen. He could've won the Doctor over without his powers-- was what he was doing wrong? 

Bim didn't have time to dwell on the morals of seducing the other Egos. Google_R poked his head out of the kitchen, scowling. 

"Hi, Google," Bim said, smiling, genuine. He couldn't seduce the robots, and not for lack of trying. Their synthetic emotions didn't have room for manipulation, even at the best of times. 

"Hello, Bim." Google_R beeped at him in annoyance. "Are you the one who left this mess in the kitchen?"

Oops. 

"Er, yeah. Sorry," Bim said, rubbing at his face. "I'll come help clean up."

"No need." Google_R stepped fully out of the kitchen, whirring. "I have already cleaned up."

"Sorry," Bim muttered again, blushing a little. 

"It is alright." 

Bim shuffled his feet awkwardly, his aura leaving him in the lurch. "Erm, thank you!"

"It is alright," Google_R repeated, a little stiffly, scrutinizing Bim's face. 

A beat, and then:

"Is something the matter, Bim?"

"Hm? W-what d'you mean?" Bim brushed a hand through his hair out of habit, sweeping it into its usual shape. 

"You seem... disheveled," Google_R said hesitantly, beeping in what seemed to be concern. 

"I'm--"

"Is it Wilford?"

Bim paused mid-excuse to search Google_R's face, furrowed in concern. He sighed. "Yeah, yeah it is."

"Wilford has never been the most fair of partners, Bim." 

Bim leaned against the kitchen door, half in the hallway. "I know, I know."

Google_R was silent, standing in the doorway. 

The realization flashed across Bim's mind, and he stiffened, looking sideways at the droid. "How do _you_ know, Google?"

Google_R hesitated before lifting up his shirt, and Bim forced himself to look. A long, deep cut across his torso-- old, and the synthetic skin knit back together, but the odd wire poking out, the wound discolored. 

"Wilford?" he said, a little hushed. 

Google_R nodded, dropping the shirt back over his stomach. "I know what you are planning, Bim," he said, suddenly. "I cannot deter you, only advise you-- be careful."

Bim stared after him, open-mouthed, and Google_R disappeared down the hallway, going to his own room. His advice rang uncomfortably in Bim's ears, and he shivered.

* * *

Bim took a deep breath, hand raised to knock at the Host's door. This was dumb. The Host was little better than Dark, at the best of times. He was far more powerful than Bim, far more intimidating than the Doctor. 

Powerful, but even as the Author, reclusive to a fault. 

Powerful, and even more so as an ally, especially if Bim wanted to push Wilford out of the way. 

_Knock-knock._

"The Host invites Bim inside." His voice was warm, welcoming. He couldn't tell what Bim was planning, not yet. 

Bim had to act quickly, before the Host sensed it, and felt a twinge of regret before releasing his aura. It was invisible, but sometimes Bim swore he could see purple-pink waves radiating outwards. This was one of those times-- the power, whatever it was, seemed to pool at his feet before surging forward, splashing against the Host's books like a rapid current around rocks. It lit the shelves with a purple glow for a moment, even if Bim imagined it, and he was filled with the now-familiar buzz of confidence. 

Showtime. 

"Hello, Host."

"Hello, Bim. The Host would like to inquire about your--" The first wave of Bim's aura hit the Host, and he stuttered, a kind of overwhelming emotion enveloping him. 

"No, Host, I came to ask about _you_." All charm, Bim walked forward to sit by the Host's desk, brushing a hand along the Host's shoulders, down to his hand. "How's your book going? Tell me _everything_."

The Host shivered a little at the proximity, sensing Bim's smile. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the Host knew Bim was influencing him, manipulating. But, as Bim's fingers rested over his, he found that he didn't mind. 

"T-the Host is only reading, just now," he said, turning his head to face Bim. He heard Bim settle lightly on the chair facing him, still leaning over the desk, hand still lightly cupped over his. 

"Oh? Well," Bim practically purred, "what're you reading?" He watched the Host's cheeks flush, felt the Host's fingers tremble a little under his own. Such a powerful figment, almost wrapped around his finger. It was a sick enjoyment, Bim admitted to himself, but enjoyment all the same. 

The Host held up the book he'd been poring over, and Bim reached out to trace the title, written over in Braille. He let his fingers trail over the Host's sleeve before dropping his hand back into his lap, noting the way the Host had gone stiff. 

" _Love for Love_ , huh? I didn't think you'd be the romantic type, Hosty." He said the nickname with a teasing, flirting pat of his hand against the Host's knee. 

The careless touches were cracking the Host's shell, and he was floundering. Bim watched carefully, trying not to let his own satisfaction show through, as the Host reached to collect himself. 

"W-well," the Host started, taking a breath, "t-this is actually a 1742 re-telling, a play, if you will, of _Beauty and the Beast_."

As the Host launched hastily into an explanation, Bim allowed himself to sit back and admire it. The Host was an incredible Ego, so passionate about what he did-- Bim envied him, in a way. Bim bubbled over with genuine appreciation, watching the Host explain the flaws in French translation with tiny hand gestures, too involved in his story to fight against Bim's aura any more.

"And so," the Host finished, breathless, "the operatic version, _Zemire and Azor_ , based on _Amour pour amour_ was successful into the eighteenth century."

Bim had leaned forward despite himself, a little open-mouthed at the Host's knowledge. "That's _incredible_ , Host." He meant it, and the depth of real emotion combined with his aura made the Host flinch. 

"The Host has been rambling far too long," the Host muttered, a real blush rising to his cheeks. He ducked his head away from Bim, trying to hide it, and cleared his throat. Suddenly, the Host wanted to sit here with Bim for hours and ramble, ramble about his favorite books and least favorite books; and maybe even a new story, something he'd never revealed to anyone before publication. 

"Not long enough," Bim said, voice the color of honey. 

"T-the Host wants to ask Bim about himself," the Host said, finding his voice, awkward. He'd never had to make small talk before, not really-- but this seemed more important than simple small talk. This was a dance, and he was placing his feet carefully as Bim swept him along. 

"Oh, don't worry about me, Host," Bim said, voice light, with a calculated undercurrent of worry. 

It wasn't lost on the Host, and he faced Bim again, a frown tugging at his mouth. "Is something the matter, Bim?" Bim's name felt sacred on his tongue, a powerful word. 

"It's just... Well, you won't tell anyone, will you?" Bim pulled at the Host's sleeve like a child seeking comfort, and the Host immediately reached for Bim's fingers, surprising both of them. 

"Tell m-me," he stuttered, blushing as he pressed Bim's hand in his. 

Bim's aura nearly broke then and there, the Host's hand now in his lap, the Host's brow furrowing, concerned, under his bandages. This was so intimate, and felt a little wrong. Bim's aura flickered into view for a moment, swirling around the two of them. 

"Well," Bim said, voice unintentionally shaking a little, "I've been trying to get work done around the studio for so long, y'know, Host?" 

The Host nodded his head, squeezing Bim's fingers, detecting the distress he'd injected into his words. 

"But no matter what I do, it feels like Wilford's always there, a step ahead," Bim whispered, letting his hand go limp. "He takes all my hard work and takes credit, and I haven't even been _on camera_ in so long..."

The Host's knuckles went white around Bim's, and he shook his head. "I will talk to Warfstache," he said, words measured, a glimmer of the Author showing through. 

Bim pushed down a sense of panic, took a breath. All according to plan. Redirect the anger. Emotions were his specialty, after all. 

"No, Host." He managed to act as if he was fiddling with his buttons, then wrapped his other hand around the Host's. "Wilford would be so upset if he knew I told, and you wouldn't spill a secret, would you?"

The Host took a shaky breath. 

"I mean, I could always use your help--" Bim cut himself off. "Never mind, just, don't worry, okay? I only needed to talk about it." He gave the Host a brave smile, and patted his hand warmly. 

"If the Host could assist Bim in any way," the Host said, husky, "he would be more than happy to." There was the edge of a threat to his tone, and Bim could tell that the Host meant it, in earnest. 

"I had an idea--" Bim started, timid.

"The Host will help." The Host's pressure on his hands dared Bim to say no. 

"Can you... could you be at the studio tomorrow, in the morning?"

"The Host will be there." 

It was all Bim could do to not jump for joy, to reach out and strangle the Host in a hug. Instead, he squeezed his hand. "It's a date, then. Thank you, thank you, Host," he half-whispered. 

The Host inclined his head, embarrassed, and Bim could see a flush rising to his cheeks again. 

"I-I'd better not intrude on your work," Bim said, rising. 

The Host's heart, full of affection and determination to help Bim, fell a little. Of course he had to leave, and leave the Host alone. "The Host thanks Bim for visiting," he said, forcing a monotone to hide the disappointment. 

Bim smiled, hearing the note of desperation in the Host's voice. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, alright?"

"Yes," he said, a little stiffly, beginning to take his hands from Bim's and go back to his book, at least in appearance. In truth, the Host knew he wouldn't be able to focus long enough to read a single sentence. 

Before the Host could turn away, Bim stooped in front of him, cradling the Host's head in his hands.

The Host went as still as he could, feeling Bim's hands against each side of his face, the warm press of Bim's lips against his forehead, even the nestling of Bim's nose against the top of his hair. It was a lingering kiss-- in a flash, Bim had stepped through the piles of books to leave the room, and the Host felt his heartbeat quicken in his ears.

* * *

Bim retreated to his room, satisfied with his work, but drained. If tomorrow morning was going to go smoothly, he needed his rest. With both the Doctor and Host on his side, Bim was sure it would go well. He didn't dare approach Dark, and the Googles had already proved themselves unwilling to go along with him. 

Bim stretched out on his bed, ruffling his hair. Maybe this was why Wilford and Dark were always so crabby-- using his power took a lot out of him, and the two other Egos were tasked with hiding the whole office from outsiders. 

Even think of the devil, and he appeared. Bim repressed a groan, hearing a knock on the door. 

"Wilford," he started, swinging the door open, "I'm not interested in... ap...ol...ogies."

Dark stood in front of him, looking as if he'd never knocked on a door in his life. 

All things considered, he probably hadn't. 

"Dark." Bim felt his defenses spring up, and he was suddenly suspicious. "What do you want?"

Dark straightened his suit, the gesture more awkward than Bim had ever seen it. Too late, Bim remembered his aura trailing behind him past the Host's room, washing under other peoples' doors. 

"I wanted to... check on you," Dark said, hesitantly. He wasn't quite sure where the urge to see Bim had come from, but once present, it was strong enough to make him leave his work and hurry up to Bim's room. He searched for an excuse, caught off-guard at Bim's hostility. "I, er, heard Warfstache and you arguing."

Bim thought fast. He didn't want to bring Dark into this-- he was playing with fire as it was, but this was more like juggling bombs. He made a decision. 

It was showtime, after all. 

"Well," Bim pouted, shrinking into himself, "if you really want to know..." He let his aura lap at Dark, waves of purple pushing back the smoky black cloud that seemed to always surround him. 

Dark moved swiftly into the room, and the painful ringing seemed to be left behind. He took Bim's wrists in a strong, cool grip, and Bim allowed himself to be guided to the edge of the bed, sitting, facing Dark. 

"Tell me what's wrong," Dark said, looking directly into Bim's eyes. Bim could see Dark's pupils dilating, black on black, could see Dark's brain a violent step ahead of him.

Bim rounded his shoulders, fidgeting, insecure. Dark loved to be in control, and Bim would let him have it. "It's just that Wilford doesn't let me do much. I'm kept up all night editing and all day moving props, and--" Bim surreptitiously rubbed at his coat sleeve, feigning embarrassment. It was almost scary, the way he held Dark's full attention. 

Almost. 

Dark's eyes flicked to Bim's hand as he moved the fabric, piercing. "Is that--" he reached for Bim's arm with surprising gentility, "--a bruise?"

Bim hurriedly pulled his sleeve down, weakly reeling back. "It's nothing, Wilford just gets upset--"

Dark stopped him mid-sentence, hands firm on Bim's arms, holding him in place. "I will have Wilford's head on a stick if you tell me that he so much as _touched_ you, darling."

Now, the pet name was just uncalled for. 

Bim swallowed his revulsion hastily. The great Darkiplier, nearly at his knees, giving him _pet names_. 

Was this the point at which he admitted that he was over his head?

Bim let his eyes dart frantically over Dark's face, feigning panic. "It's really nothing, it happens all the--"

Dark practically growled, fingers pressing into Bim's with cruel possessiveness. "The only person," Dark said, leaning in, eyes flashing, "that is allowed to leave bruises on you is _me_."

Bim felt satisfaction hit him, not with an 'Aha' moment, but closer to 'Oh, shit.'

"I can't..." Bim stuttered out, eyes fixed on the bedsheets. He couldn't let Dark see the triumph in his eyes. 

"Can't what?" Dark lifted a firm, gentle finger to Bim's chin, turning his face upwards. 

It was finally Bim's turn to feel his heart beat in his ears, a blush rising to his cheeks. He knew his powers were good, but _this_ good? 

"I-I don't dare cross him," Bim said, voice small. "Wilford's scary w-when he's angry."

"So am I." The words came like a loving smack, and Bim inwardly cheered at the amount of emotion Dark put behind them. Dark, the great and powerful, was solidly on his side. For once. 

"I wouldn't want to-- to bother him," Bim said, looking up through his lashes, "but I wanted to try something. If-If you're not busy, tomorrow morning--"

"For you, I will never be busy." Dark's eyes were boring into him, and Bim wiggled under the gaze. 

"It's a-a date, then?" Bim dared to look Dark full in the face, eyes full of hope, as wide as he could make them. 

Dark, looking back at Bim, had the sudden urge to surround the two of them in the safety of his aura and never, ever, reemerge. "Yes." All awkwardness gone, he leaned down to brush Bim's hand with his lips. He was a prince, this Trimmer, and Dark felt the need to treat him like one. 

Bim watched Dark bow his head over his own hand, shivered at the cool touch of his lips. He really felt faint now, and as Dark rejoined his aura at the door, Bim let himself lie down and rest, at last. 

Tomorrow morning was going to be one hell of a date.

* * *

Bim woke up earlier than he had to because he knew that he needed the time to get ready. 

His best suit, shined shoes, freshly polished glasses. 

Hair swept forward over his brow, shirt buttons loosened, a reassured smile on his face. 

His aura flashed at him as he dressed, stormy waves against sharp rocks. This was all his armor, in a way. His weapons. 

Bim took one last look in the mirror, trying to summon the spine-tingling buzzing of his aura, his magic. Instead of that heady sense of confidence, there was a deep-set determination behind his heart. It brought his chin up and squared his shoulders, gave him fire in his eyes. 

He needed his aura, but it needed him more. He was _Bim Trimmer_ , and he was about to get his own TV show. 

He stepped out of his room with a smile already on his face, and made for the studio. He checked his watch: fashionably late, just to make sure that the others were all there. 

It was showtime.

* * *

Bim heard the arguing before he reached the studio. Raised voices, including the Host's mumbled narrations, the Doctor's measured tone, and the sharp, angry ringing of Dark's aura came from behind the door. Over it all, Bim could hear Kathryn trying to call them to order. 

He took a deep breath and pushed open the door. 

As soon as they saw Bim, all the noise in the room stopped. Wilford wasn't awake yet, thankfully-- The Host, Doctor, Dark, and Kathryn stood several feet apart from each other, the studio floor around Dark warping into a dangerous black void. 

Kathryn immediately rounded on Bim, hands on her hips. "What did you _do_?!" she hissed, glaring at him. 

Bim took a half step back, not even daring to send his aura splashing towards her. He knew better. Dark, he'd toy with, but Kathryn was a different story. 

Dark stepped forward in a flash, pushing Bim to the side. He stared down Kathryn with teeth bared, eyes flashing. 

The room held its breath. Even through the haze of Bim's aura, they all knew that Dark was poised for a kill.

No one spotted Google_R in the corner, recording light on. 

"Don't. Touch. Him." Dark was snarling, his entire form tense. Kathryn, to her credit, didn't even flinch. 

"I wasn't about to." She crossed her arms coolly in front of her. Whatever Bim had done, it was too late to stop it-- she might as well step back and enjoy the show. 

Dark turned abruptly back to Bim, fingers trailing possessively along his jaw. "You're late." The admonishment was more like an endearment. 

"I was supposed to do... stuff," Bim stuttered, trying to catch sight of the Host and Doctor. 

"Yeah, I'm 'stuff.'" Dr. Iplier scowled at Dark, stepping forward. He carefully reached for Bim's hand, giving his fingers a reassuring squeeze. 

Bim stood uncertainly, Dark's hand resting on his shoulder, his own hand now intertwined with the Doctor's. His aura pooled around the three of them, gentle, sucking them all downward. Kathryn repressed a snort. 

"The Host would like to know when 'date' became inclusive of two other people," he drawled, a little out of Bim's reach, walking up behind Dark. 

Bim pushed a wave of power towards the Host, letting it swirl around the room. 

Unnoticed, Kathryn ducked behind the stage curtains to stand by Google_R, giggling. 

"'Other people'?" Dark looked towards the Host, glaring. "You two are the intruders here."

"On the contrary," Dr. Iplier started, grip tightening on Bim's hand, "its me and Bim who had a date."

Dark's knuckles went white against Bim's shoulder, and Bim hid a wince. Dark's aura was beginning to fester, threatening his own. 

The Host looked on the verge of storming out of the room by the time Bim found enough courage to shout over the Doctor and Dark, each staking their claim. 

"I brought you all here because I l-love you all," Bim stuttered. Dark and Dr. Iplier fell silent immediately, and the Host let his crossed arms fall, listening intently. 

Bim looked to the ground, embarrassed, as befit a confession. "I love you," he paused. "All. I love all of you. That's why--" he shook his head, acutely aware of all of their eyes on him. "--I can't make myself ch-choose."

Silence. The Host stepped forward, brow furrowed. "The Host believes that there is an easier solution."

No, no. Bim's plan depended on the three of them duking it out for him, game-show style. The title card, "Date My Ass," was all prepped. Bim's notes, on index cards, were stuffed in his back pocket. No 'easy solutions,' no fantasy revolution. 

"Has Bim ever considered the idea of a polyamorous relationship?"

Shit. 

Dr. Iplier was speechless, and Bim could tell that he was, incredibly enough, actually considering it. Bim held his breath. 

Dark, surprisingly, came to the rescue. 

"Bim is _mine_ ," Dark shot at the Host, voice low. "The two of you can find someone _else_."

Before the Host could shoot something back, Bim seized his chance. 

Showtime. 

"W-well," he stuttered, blushing a little, "I called you here because I can't decide, so m-maybe you could--" he reached over as smoothly as he could, pushing buttons on Kathryn's abandoned laptop. A screen descended behind them, lights flickered to life, and the camera propped oh-so-carefully against the wall flipped on. "--decide for me," he finished cheekily. 

The speakers started blaring music, masking Kathryn and Google_R's unsympathetic laughter. "DATE. MY. AAAAAASS!" the singer shouted, accompanied by a flourish of recorded applause. 

Bim stood in the center of the studio, a smile spread across his face. Dark, the Host, and Dr. Iplier stood, scowling, in spotlight. "Well?" Bim's aura seemed to grow, rearing into a tsunami, drowning them all in purple-washed light. 

Dark stalked up to the podium with his name on it, a determined set to his shoulders. Host followed, brushing a hand across Bim's as he passed. 

Dr. Iplier began to protest, weak-kneed. "Bim, love, I--"

"WHAT THE FUCK."

Bim and his 'contestants' whirled around. Bim's heart was in his throat, pleading. His aura turned with him, directing itself towards the newcomer. 

Wilford stood in the doorway, an oddly blank expression on his face. 

"Wilford," Bim began to explain, panic settling in his stomach, "I can--"

Google_R, prodded by Kathryn, leaped forward to turn the recording camera towards them. 

"What are you all doing here--" Wilford's voice was strangely even. 

Dr. Iplier, the closest, pulled Bim to his side. " _We_ were--"

"--with _my boyfriend_?" 

This. This was the point at which Bim admitted that things had gotten out of hand. 

Wilford moved forward, and Bim saw the glint of his butterfly knife in his hand. Bim tore himself away from Dr. Iplier and ran towards Wilford. 

"I can explain--" he started again, but Wilford stopped him. 

It was a peck, really, short, and affectionate, and all too familiar. Wilford's mustache brushed against Bim's lips, the press of the kiss against his open mouth enough to stun him into silence. 

Wilford stepped around Bim, nudging him possessively. He had his knife fully out now, and pointed it between Dark, Dr. Iplier, and the Host. 

"Who's first?"

* * *

"I mean," Mark said, gasping for breath, tears of laughter in his eyes, "you got what you wanted."

Bim shot Mark an angry, defeated glare. "Laugh it up, Fishbach."

Behind them, Bim heard Tyler snort and hit rewind. In front of them, the footage that Google_R had managed to capture started from the beginning. 

As soon as the 'Date My Ass' sign dropped, Mark started laughing again. Bim watched as Wilford kissed him, repressing a shudder. 

On screen, Wilford's knife was a blur, and blood was flying everywhere. Bim forced himself to turn away, guilt welling in his throat. 

"Hey," Mark said, patting Bim on the shoulder, "don't be upset. Doc healed them already, no harm done."

"Harm done," Bim choked out, balling his hands into fists. "All I wanted was a few minutes in the light, not for my friends to get hurt."

A Google called Tyler out of the room, leaving Mark and Bim alone. 

"No one's hurt," Mark said, turning Bim to face him. The poor kid, Mark thought, looking at him. He'd almost faded so many times, only to be underfoot at the office and ignored. He felt a horrible twinge of pity, followed by a familiar stubborn drive. 

"C'mon," Mark said, pulling gently at Bim's arm. "Why don't we talk about that video you wanted to make?"

"You'd do that for me?" Bim looked up at him, wide-eyed, and Mark felt like he was looking at himself, years ago. At the start of his stardom 

"Of course," Mark said, suddenly choked as well. He awkwardly ruffled Bim's hair, affectionate. "Let's go."

Bim followed Mark out of the room, head down, blinking his eyes in wonder. He paused at the exit, straightening, and looked back. Google_R stood around the corner, quietly recording. Bim winked at him, a purple spark, and closed the door.


	2. Chapter 2

It takes a good few hours for Bim’s aura to fully dissipate from the office, but the studio still has the trace scent of lavender in the air for months to come. Wilford, in the following weeks, would pass through the studio and lose his train of thought, Bim’s face filling his mind for seemingly no reason. 

Doc is the first to ‘wake up.’ He’s in the clinic, hovering over Wilford and Dark to make sure that the two of them haven’t lost too much blood after their knife fight. Their wounds are healed, and they sleep in two adjacent beds– almost peaceful. 

The awakening comes with the feeling of stepping from a too-bright room into dim light. Suddenly, the Doctor isn’t straining at every movement, waiting for Bim to come by; isn’t flicking his eyes over Wilford and Dark’s passive faces with jealousy; isn’t on edge, squinting into the sun. 

When the recollection of the past two days washes over him, he’s first embarrassed. Dr. Iplier buries his face in his hands, ears flushing red. Bim had wrapped them all around his finger, and not only had the Doctor not noticed, he’d gone along.

Dr. Iplier remembers Bim’s lips against his cheek, the skin of his face tingling at the memory.

He’s embarrassed, and Dark and Wilford begin to stir.

* * *

The Host is next, shut away in his library. Even before his head clears, he’s upset, angry at being embarrassed. He’d trusted Bim. The Host is curled in an alcove of his library, ears buzzing with shame, hands curled around the handle of his bat. This was a betrayal. Bim could love all of them. Bim could love _him_ , couldn’t he?

The realization of what’s happened crashes over him like the clang of cymbals, reverberating though him. The Host’s vision is long gone, but sitting, shaking, in his room, he begins to see red. 

No, no, he thinks. Bim couldn’t love anyone.

* * *

Dark and Wilford wake up at the same time, blearily looking around. Dr. Iplier, face still flushed red, has already retreated to the next room in fear of what’s about to happen. Taking the knives with him, of course.

Dark wakes with a start, mind immediately jumping to Bim. He stumbles upright, breathing hard, almost frantic. Everything hurts, but that doesn’t matter. No, nothing matters but Bim.

He looks around the room, eyes flashing, his aura collecting itself around him. Wilford. _Wilford._

Dark doesn’t feel his knife in his pocket, but it doesn’t matter. He’ll kill Wilford with his bare hands. He advances on Wilford, still prone in bed.

It’s not until his hands are wrapped around Wilford’s throat that he remembers what Bim had done. The realization is a stiffening, freezing jolt of lightning, wiping all other emotion, any emotion he’d had, from his mind. 

* * *

Wilford wakes up to Dark’s hands around his neck, beginning to squeeze. He comes to consciousness slowly, as if rising from the depths of water. Everything smells like lavender. 

“D-Dark?” he croaks, a little dizzy.  


Dark immediately rips himself away from Wilford, flinging himself across the room. 

Wilford pieces reality together slowly. He’s in the clinic with Dark, aching all over. The love of his life, Bim, was somewhere else. Nothing seemed out of order–

Bim. The memory comes quickly after that, rushing past in a swirl of vivid color and sound. 

Bim. Wilford’s sitting up in bed now, shaking his head.

Bim. A flush of color rushes to his face. There’s no way Wilford could be remembering correctly. 

* * *

Once Dark and Wilford have calmed down– relatively speaking– they collect Dr. Iplier and begin stalking towards the living room. The Host meets them halfway, bat in hand. They’re silent, the only sound the stomping of their feet and the rustling of the Doctor’s coat.

A quiet anger is palpable, visible in the set of the Host’s shoulders and audible in the high ringing of Dark’s aura. 

This is _their_  showtime.

* * *

Mark is still yelling at Bim when they walk in, Tyler and Google_R watching in the background. 

“–irresponsible, not to mention dangerous and downright _malicious_ –” Mark stops, seeing the four of them walk in. “Er…”  


Bim, almost cowering in front of Mark, whips around to see Dark, Wilford, Dr. Iplier, and the Host blocking the door. His heart jumps into his throat. “Hi– Hi guys.”

Google_R thinks the fastest. He remotely activates the TV at the front of the room, turning the volume up.

Bim’s four victims are advancing on him, and Bim is seeing the light die from his own eyes. This is the end. 

From across the room, the speakers started blaring. Everyone froze– the seducer rooted to the spot, the seduced at his throat, Mark scrabbling between them.

“–with _my_  boyfriend?!” Wilford’s recorded voice echoes across the room.   


Tyler shoots Google_R a look. “Shut it off,” he whispers, looking back at Dark’s face. Google_R shakes his head, a smile of satisfaction on his face.

* * *

Wilford sees himself walk into the room, on screen, and inwardly cringes. He looks so… soft. So normal. 

Dark watches the TV with wide eyes, a spark of admiration as he follows Bim’s commands, the straight set of his back. As on-screen Wilford pulls a knife on on-screen Dark, the two of them recoil from Bim and begin edging out of the room, trying to escape their own flushed faces and Tyler’s repressed giggles. 

The Host hears himself ask Bim for a poly relationship and practically growls, bat poised over his shoulder. He advances while Dark and Wilford take a step backwards.

Dr. Iplier sees himself on the recording, protesting, and is filled with pride before the embarrassment floods over him again. He tugs at the Host’s sleeve, suddenly, and forces the two of them to shuffle away.

Bim barely manages to hold in his laughter until they all walk away. Mark tries to look disapproving, but Tyler and Google_R are wheezing behind him, and Bim’s smile is too damn addicting, and Mark’s laughing with the rest of them. 


End file.
